


Good Things Come In Threes

by lazaefair



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Peter, Slice of Ravager life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 03:06:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11072769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazaefair/pseuds/lazaefair
Summary: Kraglin's got teeth.





	Good Things Come In Threes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Write_like_an_American](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Write_like_an_American/gifts).



The first time it happens, Kraglin gets temporarily demoted down to crewman for a week, with nothing but scrub duty assigned to every waking shift, while Yondu stomps around the _Eclector_ with his coat collar high and a murderous scowl on his face. (The ship’s toilets have never looked so sparkling clean before, because never let it be said the two of them couldn’t find new ways to express their rage through sheer bloody-minded spite.) 

Kraglin gets the last laugh, though, because Yondu promotes Gef, of all people - speaking of spite - into his position for the week. And, well, let’s just say that when the words “first mate” finally revert to their proper spot next to Kraglin’s name on the ship rosters, the collective sigh of relief from the crew actually stirs the back of his mohawk from the force of it as he makes his way to the bridge. He doesn’t say “I told you so” because that would be inviting swift death by arrow, but he doesn’t work that hard to put away the smirk, either. Especially since Yondu’s still got his collar up.

The second time it happens, Yondu kicks Kraglin out of bed naked _and_ assigns him to a Long Distance - solo for almost a flarking astral month - that winds up netting them a healthy balance of units, but also nearly kills him at least half a dozen times. The last of which he only escapes by dint of some truly reckless piloting through flarking Kree territory. All things considered, he feels completely justified bitching to the quartermaster about the cost of repairing the resulting damages to his M-ship, which gets passed up the chain to the cap’n, which is perfectly fine, because he was intending to bawl Yondu out anyway for 1) trying to kill him and 2) not having the common fuckin’ courtesy to try to kill him face-to-face.

The bawling-out goes about as well as can be expected - i.e., Kraglin ends up knocked on his ass. Whereupon he waits until Yondu’s standing over him, clenching his blue fists and breathing hard and doing a piss-poor job of hiding that yellow sharp-toothed grin, then surges up and wraps his long arms around Yondu’s legs and takes his captain down to the floor with him. 

This leads directly to the third time happening. Yondu sits up gingerly on the bed afterwards, touching the newest (and largest) hickey on his neck with an expression on his face that looks equally torn between disbelief, furious rage, and post-orgasmic fucked-out daze. It’s almost magnificent to watch.

“You…you just don’t learn, do you, boy?” he grinds out, eyes narrowed.

“Nope,” Kraglin says. He regards the faint but ominous flare of red along the cap’n’s crest with about as much equanimity as can be expected from someone who’s buck-ass naked and has been screwing said cap’n into his own mattress, enthusiastically, for the past hour, and might be a mite dazed himself. He shrugs internally and reaches down to rummage around in his discarded jumpsuit. “I gotchu something for that, though, while I was out on assignment.”

Yondu squints down at the coil of red material that Kraglin holds out to him. “The hell is this?”

“Scarf. Grabbed it from the mark’s closet when zie weren’t looking.” It’s expensive stuff, almost indecently shiny and satin-like. “’S real Shi’ar silk.”

“I know that, ya idjit,” Yondu says, but he’s a Ravager through-and-through, and can’t keep the avaricious gleam from his eye.

“Figured I’d try to make up for…y’know…the neck thing,” Kraglin explains diffidently. He might be pretty sure of his place by his captain’s side, but he also ain’t dumb enough to keep going and say that he’d really only been thinking about how good the red would look contrasted against Yondu’s skin. Wrapped around Yondu’s throat, tucked into the collar of his duster. Wrapped around Yondu’s wrists. Hell, maybe wrapped around Kraglin’s wrists, and ain’t _that_ a fantasy designed to keep all good little first mates up at night.

Yondu doesn’t help his case when he yanks the scarf from Kraglin’s hands and winds it around his fingers, looking thoughtful. 

“Don’t think this means y’got any kinda _permission,”_ he says with a meaningful purse of his lips.

“’Course not, sir,” Kraglin says, and he’s even mostly sincere this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written on tumblr in a late-night binge. All hail [Write_Like_an_American](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Write_like_an_American/pseuds/Write_like_an_American) and the irresistible allure of their Kraglin. I couldn't sneak in a mention of Hrax, but consider it there. Lurking.


End file.
